


the kids from yesterday

by monstermash



Series: the hand in the garden [4]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: M/M, WIP, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 01:17:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11243280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monstermash/pseuds/monstermash
Summary: We don't care about the message or the rules they makeWe'll find you when the sun goes black





	the kids from yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> basically i have three lone wanderers that always exist at the same time (though their stories differ slightly depending on who is _the_ lone wanderer). Jay and Butch always end up together, Charon and Yasha always find each other, and Winona always ends up hanging out with/bugging Jericho and they always end up going west to new vegas where they get paid by courier six (who runs new vegas by that point) to harass/hunt the remnants of the legion with their band of mercs.
> 
> Yasha: good karma (although he was a damn terror in the vault tbh)  
> Jay: neutral karma, though he tends to do good things more often becuz it keeps him on people's good sides  
> Winona: evil karma, she's serious about having a good time
> 
> fun fact: jay is my second oldest LW, the first being Frankie. poor, poor frankie, lost to the annals of history. truly a child of the wasteland with all the poor decisions he made.
> 
> have this fic while i work on yasha and charon's next part.
> 
>  
> 
> [here's butch & jay's playlist](https://8tracks.com/edmunderson/butch-jay)

Not even an hour out of the vault and he’s already getting shot at by some psychos in rotting football gear and spikes. He’s only got 3 shots left (he didn’t bring that much ammo with him when he left, he just took off as soon as he heard 101 was finally open, that he could _leave_ ) and there’s at least 8 of them left. Fuck, he really should’ve waited and left with Yasha and that weird looking guy because at least he wouldn’t be outnumbered.

This ain’t looking good for Butch.

He startles when another bullet pings off of the crumbling wall he’s behind. Great, they must’ve realized that he doesn’t have much ammo left too. 

Just when he’s thinking _“Well, ain’t this a shitty way to die”_ a glint of light catches his eye and he looks up. It flashes again and then there’s a gurgling sound and screaming raiders. 

Huh, looks like Butch will live to see another day thanks to mystery sniper.

A loud whistle lets loose and holy shit- Butch scrambles away when the earth below him starts to shake and a mole rat (he thinks? It looks way too big to be one but nothing looks right out here) comes crawling out, shrieks at him, and turns on his attackers. Butch peeks around the ruined wall to see a swarm of mole rats descending on them. Good lord, if this is the work of mystery sniper then he doesn’t want to be on their bad side.

A tap on his shoulder nearly makes him shout but he slaps a hand over his mouth to keep quiet because even if those hairless rodents are not attacking him he still doesn’t want to draw their attention. 

Whipping his head around he sees mystery sniper crouched next to him. Butch doesn’t know what he was expecting this guy to look like, but definitely not some vagabond looking man. Long, dirty matted blond hair like this guy hasn’t washed or trimmed his hair in months, wheatish skin covered in grime, a long cut bisecting his mouth (old, but never healed right by the looks of it, never sealed back up like skin should because the guy’s mouth is closed but Butch can still see _teeth_ ), and the prettiest sea grey eyes he’s ever seen.

Sniper’s hands move in gestures that Butch doesn’t recognize at first but remembers them as ASL. Aw man, his ASL is rusty but he’s pretty sure the guy is asking him if he’s alright.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine. Thanks,” he manages to croak out. The guy grins at him as he continues to sign.

_“I’m Jay.”_

Jay holds out a hand and raises an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes, when Butch neither moves nor says anything, too dumbstruck by the whole situation to respond. Well, until the mole rats come over to them, snuffling and butting against Jay looking for attention; it’s only then that Butch notices the relative quiet around them.

The blond rubs and pats the mole rats until they decide they’ve had enough and burrow back into the ground. Jay stands, brushing the dirt off his already messy clothes and readjusting the rifle slung over his shoulder, and holds out his hand again to Butch, who takes it this time, hauling him to his feet.

_“Where are you headed?”_

“Fuck, I don’t really know.”

Jay seems to finally notice the vault suit Butch is wearing and nods, walking east. He stops only a few feet away and gives Butch a _Well, are you coming or not?_ look. Butch doesn’t even really think about it, just follows Jay wherever he leads him.

Anywhere is better than here.

\---

_“So, what brings you out into the wasteland?”_

“What is this, twenty questions?”

_“No, but it could be if you want.”_

Butch sighs as they continue walking to someplace Jay calls Rivet City. The outside world hasn’t turned out to be anything like he expected. Sure, he kinda figured it wouldn’t be like the world he learned about growing up, the world before the bombs dropped, but he didn’t think it’d still look blasted all to hell with ruins everywhere.

“I’m out here because I couldn’t stand being in the vault anymore.”

_“Too cramped?”_

“Nah, more like chafing? I guess? It was…”

_“An itch you couldn’t scratch? The desperate need to see the sky?”_

“Exactly. You ever live in a tin can in the ground? Because it sounds like you know the feeling well.”

Jay seems to hesitate before signing his answer.

_“Not in a tin can, no. I used to live in Little Lamplight before I came topside for good.”_

“Little Lamplight?”

_“It’s where the unwanted kids of the wasteland go or are left. When you age out at sixteen you have to leave. Usually most go to Big Town, but I was never really good at staying in one place for long which is why when I lived in Little Lamplight I was the one who went out scavenging for things. What about you? What did you do in the vault?”_

“Barber and leader of the Tunnel Snakes gang. So if you’re not a scavenger for Little Lamplight anymore, what are you now?”

_“I guess you could say I’m a ranger, though I usually stick to the D.C. ruins and keep the super-mutants from getting too out of hand since the Brotherhood of Steel can’t be bothered to lift a finger unless it benefits them directly. Apparently sitting on their thumbs and harassing everyone else is a better use for their time and resources. So really, you’re very lucky that I was coming back from checking up on Big Town.”_

“Sorry, _super-whats?”_

Jay’s brow furrows in thought while he tries to come up with a way to describe the violent creatures.

_“Think really big, buff green guys who look and act like they’re hopped up on psycho and buffout with a taste for human flesh.”_

“They eat people?” Butch says incredulously, voice raising towards the end, face twisting indisgust.

_“If you think that’s gross wait until you see a centaur.”_

“I don’t think I want to.”

\---

Butch likes Rivet City (he won’t admit to the obvious reasons why that is) and takes as much of it in as he follows Jay through the halls. He nearly runs into the blond when Jay suddenly stops in front of a door.

_“My place is kinda small, so if that’s gonna bother you I can take you to the Weatherly Hotel instead if you have the caps for it.”_

“Uh, nah, your place will be fine. Thanks,” Butch manages to get out. _What the heck are caps?_ he wonders. He can ask about that later. Right now he just wants to give his feet a rest and maybe pass out. 

Jay’s place is smaller than he’d been expecting; he thought it might be the size of the apartment he and his ma lived in back in the vault (which was _tiny_ compared to what almost all of the other residents got. He remembers Yasha and his dad had one that was even smaller than what Butch and his ma had), but it was only slightly bigger than what his room had been. There was only enough space a twin sized bed, a table with a couple of chairs, and a dresser. 

At least it had its own bathroom. Communal showers were one thing Butch definitely wasn’t going to miss about 101.

_“I’ve only got the one bed, so we’ll have to share.”_

“Look, not that I’m not grateful or anything – because I really, truly am, believe me – but there is no way I’m sharing close sleeping quarters with you until you’ve at _least_ had a shower because you stink worse than those damn mole rats of yours. A haircut wouldn’t be a bad idea either.”

Jay grins and laughs silently which is… a surprisingly pleasant thing. Butch knows he’s got a rude mouth on himself which didn’t do him any favors in the vault. He’s used to people being insulted and sneering at him so he learned to sneer right back. It’s his go to. So Jay just laughing and closing the bathroom door behind him leaves Butch at a bit of a loss.

Taking a better look around the room instead of the quick sweeping glance when he first entered, he sees a few things he didn’t initially.

There’s a stack of books (mostly fiction by the looks of it) on the floor next to the bed, which is covered in layers upon layers of blankets. There’s outdated, but still somewhat useful, maps strewn over the table that have obviously had new things added to them (most likely towns and dangerous areas). On the wall above the dresser are drawings, sketches done in coal, of the wasteland’s landscapes, of people who Butch doesn’t even recognize (why would he? He’s lived underground all his life until now), a town labeled as “home,” and the last one his gaze falls on catches his eye.

It’s as old looking as the one entitled “home,” but it’s of two grinning children, a curly haired boy and a girl with a big afro, both no older than maybe 9 years old. The art style is different than all of the others. Carefully, Butch takes it of the wall, to get a better look at it. The two kids both have an arm thrown across the other’s shoulder, faces pressed together so closely that their cheeks are touching, grinning bright and happy at the artist.

“Jaybird and Winnie, 2267” is scrawled at the bottom.

Looking at the picture feels like someone punched a hole in his stomach. It makes him think of Wally and Paul and, belatedly, Freddie. It’s homesickness, Butch realizes, but it’s for a time he can’t go back to, though he’s not really sure he’d ever want to. 

Not after all that’s happened, not after what he knows now, not after finally leaving that damn tomb.

Wally turned out to not be that great of a friend after all, turning his back on Butch and the rest of the Tunnel Snakes when the Overseer and security really began to crack down on them. Paul died because the Overseer wanted to “teach them a lesson.” And what a shitty way to do it. Freddie, well, at least Freddie was still alive. He stayed behind in the vault, but he was alive so that was something.

Butch has all three of their Tunnel Snakes jackets in the duffel bag filled with what little belongings he thought to take with him when he left (he definitely should’ve grabbed more ammo from the armory on his way out). Wally had thrown his in Butch’s face when he abandoned them, he kept Paul’s because it would’ve just been burned up in the incinerator with his corpse, and Freddie had handed his over as Butch was leaving (“Won’t be of much use to me here, but you’ll need it when you start the gang up again. Can’t imagine leather jackets will be easy to find out there.”) and that had probably been the worst.

Now it was just him and you can’t really have a gang with just one person.

It’s not until he notices Jay standing next to him, looking at the drawing Butch is still holding, that Butch realizes how long he’s been standing there lost in thought about his old life.

Jay holds out his hand and Butch hands over the picture, watching silently as the blond man places it back up on the wall. Butch looks at him, studying his profile; Jay looks younger than he did covered in grime and matted hair.

“Who is she?” Butch finds himself asking, voice quiet and gaze still locked on Jay.

 _“She was my best friend in Little Lamplight. Winona didn’t really get along with the other kids too much, a little too wild for the others to handle well. I was the only one she ever really listened to. She’d go out scavenging too, sometimes with me, other times by herself,”_ Jay signs with a soft smile and a distant look in his eyes, obviously lost in memories. The smile drops and his brows pull together, forming a knot, as he starts signing again. _“One day she left. Just took all her stuff and left without a word. We were only thirteen, didn’t have to worry about aging out for another three years, but I guess she couldn’t stand to be there any longer.”_

Jay’s head turns to look at Butch, their eyes locking onto the other’s.

_“You ever lose someone like that? Them just walking out on you without a word and you don’t even know if they’re still alive or not?”_

Butch feels small under that unwavering gaze, sea grey eyes that are soft, but looking at him all the way down into his soul. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip quickly before he answers.

“Yeah. My dad did as far as I know. I don’t remember the man, but sometimes I wonder, y’know?”

Jay nods, and lets out a huff as his hair falls into his face and he attempts to push it out of the way, which does nothing, the hair just falling back into his face again.

Butch snorts and heads over to his bag, pulling out his barber tools (no way was he gonna leave those behind) and pulling out one of the chairs.

“C’mon, let’s fix that.”


End file.
